


Leather and Letterman

by nanianela



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, CW for mentions of abuse, Cheesy, First Time, High School, Implied Sexual Content, Jock/Punk, M/M, No seriously really cheesy, Romance, Sex in a Car, Trans Rick, Trans Rick Sanchez, i finally caved and wrote an HS AU dont fuckign look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanianela/pseuds/nanianela
Summary: Stan and Rick are juniors in high school and have been dating for 4 months when they decide to take things to the next level.Jock/Punk dynamic and trans Rick.‘80s high school AU! ♡





	Leather and Letterman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibajun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibajun/gifts), [sexbangs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexbangs/gifts).



> Thank you for doing a bit of editing, chibajun and sexbangs!!!
> 
> Hopefully you guys enjoy! If you leave me a comment, I'll be sure to respond ♡♡♡
> 
> Thanks so much for reading ! ! !
> 
> Image can be found here: http://jlorcalx.tumblr.com/post/162520082310

Rick hopped with practiced ease over his neighbor's fence, landing on both his hands and feet like a cat, all gangly limbs and pokey elbows, and the chain-link rattled. His grey hood fell away with the impact on the ground, exposing his tufts of wild brown hair, and he swiftly tugged it up to encompass his face again. The black pants and black leather jacket over the hoodie helped him blend into the dark as best as he could. He hurried along with nothing but the sound of crunching, dewy grass under his bare feet. He wore his black converse hi-tops with the dirty laces tied together behind his neck, and the shoes bumped up along his chest as he slipped through the dark.

He saw the red DeVille stalling in the street waiting for him with the passenger's side door already opened, the curls of exhaust floating out from the puttering vehicle glowing a bright orange-yellow in the light of the sodium streetlamp. It was such a gorgeous car, really, long and shiny, a good hefty square shape to it, a bright cherry red with a white convertible top. It must have been one of those mental things, but it seemed like Stan always dressed like it because he loved it so much, it seemed like he was always wearing something red.

Rick felt a warm sensation spread under his ribcage and in his stomach like melted honey.

His heart’s loudspeakers screamed _“Stan!”_ and began working into overdrive at the thought of him, thumping up at his chest.

Rick rushed up to the car and finally slid into the passenger's seat. He pulled the door to the puttering red Stanmobile shut with a squeal, and it hung just a few inches from being fully closed. Stan always kept the headlights off when he was in this neighborhood, he already knew the exact pickup point and knew what to do to keep Rick as safe as possible when he'd sneak out.

Rick knew it wouldn't be a problem tonight, though, his dad was passed out on the armchair in the living room. The neighbors could still be snitches, though.

"Hey," Stan greeted quietly, shooting him a sleepy smile. He was wearing that red Letterman with the white leather sleeves, Rick's favorite. "Happy four months."

"Yeah," Rick couldn't help but smile back, slipping his hand over Stan's knee in his jeans and keeping it there.

Stan moved the clutch and they took off, he knew better than to stall for too long this close to Rick's house. The air rushed noisily over the door next to Rick, and when they took their first turn out of the neighborhood Rick pushed and pulled the door shut for real with a louder slam.

Rick loved sitting in Stan's car beside him. It always smelled the same, certain, comforting way: briny and beachy, like leather, like the sweaty gym bag he often kept in the backseat, like Stan's aftershave and skin. And he didn't know if he was just imagining it, but it felt like he’d sat in the passenger’s seat enough times for it to remember his shape now. Rick ducked down and pulled his shoes on without socks, some of the wet blades of grass still stuck to his feet inside.

He quickly tied the laces together and straightened back up, in time to see them turn onto the main road, and Stan finally flicked the headlights back on.

It was like a signal that he could finally relax. Rick propped his feet up on the dashboard, crossing one over the other, before moving his hand back over onto Stan’s knee languidly, looking over at him for a stolen glance.

“Why do you do that?” Stan asked. “Put your shoes on right away?”

“I guess it’s in case I have to get out and,” Rick suddenly rubbed at his arm, realizing what he was saying. “I dunno. Go a different direction for some reason.”

“Well, we’re all good.” Stan huffed, like he hadn’t been feeling a little nervous about it too. Every time he moved one of his sweating hands it left a print of shininess on the steering wheel. Not like he wasn't always some level of sweaty, though.

They'd actually planned for this, as lame as that was, but they made sure both of them would have cleared schedules so they could hang out that night on their monthiversary. Of course they'd fooled around a lot, but they'd never fully gone all the way before, and that was what they wanted to do tonight.

"I got you something." Rick said, slamming his feet back down onto the floor of the car and dug around in his pocket before producing a white, perfectly rolled-by-hand joint and holding it straight up between the two of them.

"Aw shit, Rick, you shoulda told me we were going to do... uh, gifts or something." Stan rubbed at the back of his head, mussing his already messy brown hairs. "I woulda-"

"Heh. Relax, Lee." Rick dragged his hand up from his knee over his firm thigh, and kept it resting there instead. "We can share it, so it's not really a gift or-or anything. You look like you could take the edge off."

"Yeah, well, you're damn right about that." Stan could help but chuckle. "Alright. Light it on up, then, Ricky."

Rick cranked down the window about an inch and clasped the joint between his rolled lips, flicking the lighter. He blew it out of the crack at the top window, taking another quick puff so too much wouldn’t leak out too much in between.

“You don’t have to do that,” Stan spoke up quietly. “Up for a hotbox?”

Rick looked away and smiled, his next cloudy breath in his direction. This felt like good news, like Stan wasn’t sharing the car as much with his dad or his brother now. He was trying to “kind of slowly steal it”, is how he put it. Wordlessly, he cranked the window all of the way closed and leaned in closer to pass it on to him.

Rick held it in front of Stan's mouth, who grinned and clasped it with a pointy canine tooth. Rick slipped out his metal Zippo lighter and flicked on the dancing flame, illuminating his boyfriend's spotty face in its soft yellow light. Stan breathed in, taking a gigantic inhale and coughing it out, plucking it between two fingers and handing it over to Rick as he coughed hard into his fist, the car swerving as he continued to cough.

"Holy _shit_ that was a big fuckin' pull," Rick chuckled. "Damn, Stanley!"

"Hey, you said yourself, I probably need it!" He said in his defense. Rick chuckled, sticking the end of the joint into his own mouth. He splayed out, resting his feet on the dash and stretching out his beanpole legs. He blew the smoke out from his nostrils, creating twin plumes. He inhaled again and frenched it, letting a thick white cloud float up to his nose where he breathed it back in.

The two made quite the intriguing pair. One might even wonder how two people like this would have found themselves sharing the front seats of a car, anyway. Rick was all leather, skin-tight black jeans with slashed up fabric on the thighs and knees, a belt buckle with a skull, piercings on almost every available space on both ears, and he was thin as a rail. Stan was all muscle and bulk, his thick brown hair gelled back, a square-jawed football player with the red-and-white Letterman to show for it.  

"Tonight's the night, then." Stan said quietly, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Me 'n you. We're gonna... y'know. Have sex. For real this time." Stan breathed out nervously, squinting at the road straight ahead.

"I mean... that was the plan." Rick sucked down on his joint again. Smoke tumbled out of his mouth at his next words. "You backing out on me, Pines?"

" _No!_ No way in hell." Stan finally stole a glance at him, looking at Rick made his tense shoulders relax just a little. "I'm just-- dammit. If I say what I'm thinking out loud it's gonna sound so stupid."

"Say it." Rick's brow wrinkled just slightly as he looked at Stan from his place at the passenger's seat, not worried that Stan would see his concerned expression. Stan was looking straight ahead at the road, he was such a terrible driver that he wouldn’t steal too many glances at him in the passenger’s seat.

"I… want to be good for you." Stan sighed. "And... look, I know it can hurt a lot. I don't want to hurt you, Rick. I want it to feel nice."

"You're not gonna hurt me." Rick almost chuckled, but held his tongue for Stan's sake.

"But what if I _do?_ " Stan growled low in his throat and bit down on his jaw. "I, uh, tried it with Carla once, that was the first time I ever tried this kinda thing. But we had to stop right away because she said it was hurting her too much, and there was, uh, some blood, I felt- I _still_ feel guilty about it, shit-"

"Well, that's cuz you're one girthy fucker." Rick teased, playfully knocking at his arm with his knuckles to let him know he was joking. "Come on, I mean, y-you don't think the thought crossed my mind that I might dislocate my jaw when I'm sucking you off? You're- y-y'know, you're big, I mean, got a big ol' ween-"

"Knock it off. It’s not the time for-- puffing me up, okay?" Stan's face was bright with a blush, his broad shoulders drawn up high as he leaned over the steering wheel. "Look, it freaked me out pretty bad."

"Alright, alright." Rick chuckled, rubbing his palm up and down along Stan's thigh, the friction on his jeans warming already. "I'll be serious. Let me show you how s-serious I can be. Super serious. Watch."

Rick tilted his flat ass into the air and let out a quiet, muffled fart. "Dammit, that one felt like it was gonna be louder."

An unexpected chuckle ripped up Stan's throat, like he wasn't aware he was going to start laughing. Rick held the joint in his mouth and scooted closer to him and held his shoulders tight, both of them laughing hard. Stan's arm slipped around the back of Rick's neck and he crushed him into a chokehold, Rick's laughter turning into wheezes.

"F _f-ahah_ uck you," Stan still seemed to be involuntarily laughing, and he planted his hand in the middle of Rick's scrawny chest and pushed hard, sending Rick sprawling a few inches back across the seat. At their little tussle, the car swerved and jerked as Stan drove one-handed, and Stan struggled to correct it after they bumped hard over a line of reflectors at the edge of the road.  

"God, you suck at driving." Rick teased and plucked the joint out from his mouth to hold in his spindly fingers and caught his breath. He smoothed down his wild brown hair, grinning wide. "Loosen up a little, Pines. I got something right here that'll help, remember?"  

Rick nudged his shoulder, the joint leaking whorls of smoke up to the car ceiling.

"Right," Stan took what was being passed to him, fat and calloused fingers brushing over Rick’s thin and soft ones, and he smoked in deep. "Sorry. I know it's dumb to worry this much. I mean, it’s just _sex_ , it’s not like it’s rocket science.”

“Luckily for you, Stanley, I know how to do both.” Rick cracked his joke, and Stan snorted hard at it, Rick could almost see how some of the tension left his shoulders.

"We don't have to, y'know." Rick pointed out quietly. "I know I want to. But if it doesn't happen tonight, that's okay too. Yeah?"

Stan smiled softly at him, looking away from the road for a moment. "Yeah." He agreed, voice low and secretive.

“…Do you think it counts?” Stan cleared his throat into his fist. “What I told you. About Carla. Think it does?”

“Wh-what, you think you’re still a virgin or something?” Rick snorted, propping both feet back up onto the dash with loud thunks.

“Maybe.” Stan mumbled under his breath. “I feel like I might be, still.”

“Then you are.” Rick’s lips climbed into a grin. “Trust me, you’ll know when you’re not.”

"Then I'll know by the end of tonight." Stan replied without a beat, and Rick's hand wandered up to his groin and squeezed, resulting in a quiet hiss from Stan, who eased down just a little further on the gas pedal eagerly.

The two of them pulled up to Stan’s favorite liquor store and Stan parked but kept the engine running. It was his favorite because the owner was an ancient old man with liver spots and long greying nose hairs, and he wore strong glasses with lenses that were so thick his eyes looked nearly like pinpricks. The owner was as blind as a mole, and Stan fully intended on taking advantage of that before he caught on and hired someone with sharper vision to take over.

The jock smiled wide and waggled his thick brows,  finally able to turn fully to look at Rick without being distracted by the road. His eyelids were more narrowed than usual and they were definitely pinker.

“You look high.” Rick couldn’t help but comment on it, chuckling.

“Nope! I’m good.” Stan tried to brush it off. He was getting into the zone now, he couldn’t afford to have something throwing off his game. He gripped onto the door handle with one hand in anticipation and jabbed a few times at Rick’s arm with the other. “So, any requests?” He asked. “Soda? Chips?”

“Yeah. Don’t get caught.” Rick replied, full of snark. Stan just rolled his eyes and snorted, wrenching open the driver’s side door with a metallic screech and slamming it shut. He pulled his arms out of their white leather sleeves and folded them on the opened window to lean inside, the red Letterman now draped over his back like a cape.

“Hang tight. Be right back,” He said giddily, snapping up the buttons along the front of his jacket and then tucking his empty sleeves into his pockets so it would look like his hands were in his pockets the whole time. He patted the car door with his hand from underneath the striped hem of his buttoned jacket and then strode up to the store’s entrance with the confidence of a mobster. Rick couldn’t help but have laughter bubble up in him at his boyfriend’s antics. He was such a dork underneath it all.

He’d seen Stan’s superior lifting skills plenty of times to not worry too much, but in the back of his mind the tiniest concern was there. Stan would need to have a clean record if he was serious about his dream of becoming a firefighter. That seemed like the biggest joke, since Stan was the only person Rick had ever witnessed accidentally catch fire multiple times. He’d probably spontaneously combust into flames if he got even within a block of a house fire. Maybe that was part of the reason why Rick was the only person he’d told about the idea. That, or he didn't want to let anyone down if it didn't happen, he didn't want to set up expectations he probably couldn't meet, but Rick believed in him.

Rick was tinkering away with a short-term memory loss device for that exact reason, but he hadn’t told Stan about it yet. He wanted to surprise him with it once it was at full functionality, and then the two of them could _really_ fuck some shit up around town. If the cops caught up to them, it would be just one trigger pull away from them completely forgetting what they’d been doing. Rick couldn’t wait until he’d tested the device to perfection. For now, he just had a lot of agitated lab rats that couldn’t quite remember what got them so mad.

Rick slid into the driver’s seat just like they’d practiced, in case he’d have to drive like a getaway vehicle if Stan did wind up getting caught. He had to admit he was feeling some of the high too, and was feeling a little more creative than usual. He took a Bic out from the cupholder and doodled absent-mindedly on the back of his hand while he waited, he was still trying to perfect his three pronged R-symbol so he could finally begin spraying it on walls around town and start building up his brand, but something about the design was still slightly off. He just couldn’t pinpoint what.

Stan climbed back into the car and dumped out everything out from under his jacket onto the leather seat between them: lube, a strip of condoms in shiny gold packaging he’d obviously stolen out of an absent box, a few brown bottles of free floating beers he’d also obviously slipped out of their six packs, bright yellow Lay’s chips, a pack of cigarettes and a Royal Crown cola for Rick, who swore he’d never touch alcohol because of how much he hated what it did to his dad.

Stan swiped most of the items off to fall in thunks onto the car floor, but left the lube and condoms suggestively. Rick grinned and folded his arms around his broad shoulders, draping himself over him in a hug from behind. Tonight was going to be _fun_.

Stan grinned at him and squeezed at his thigh. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Stan put in a tape. He laughed when Rick turned the knob almost to full blast, despite Stan’s protests about how his dad would kill him if he blew the speakers. He still never made no move to turn it down, and they cruised down the streets and perfumed the air with their sound everywhere they went.

Stan caught a glance of the back of Rick's hand as he tapped out a rhythm on the dash.

“Hey, that’s your tag design you’re always working on, right?” Stan tapped at the blue ink on the back of his hand, and Rick had almost forgotten about doodling it outside of the convenience store while he waited.

“Yeah. It still looks off to me, though. Can’t get it right.” Rick flexed his hand into a fist, then patted his fingers onto the dashboard one by one, both watching as the tendons under Rick’s hand rippled up against the penned design from under the skin.

“Hmm.” Stan stuck his pointer finger into his mouth, took it out with a pop and then rubbed the wet finger along the blue ink, smearing some of it away. “Hand me that pen you used, wouldja?”

Stan’s tongue peeked out with concentration the way it always did, as with a few measured strokes he drew down new lines over the splotches of blurry blue as they waited at the next red light. The pressure of the pen scratching at his skin hurt just a little bit, but Rick tried not to let that show.

“Okay. I think- how’s that?” Stan lifted the pen away, tossing it into the cup holder with finality.

“Do you think it looks too much like a ‘P’?” Rick brought his hand up closer to his face and twisted it, drinking in the new design with a faint smile on his face.

“Well, that’s what this third of the prong is for.” Stan traced his finger along the skin, sending shivers down Rick’s spine. “It gives it one of the legs in the 'R'. See?”

“Ye-yeah.” Rick’s eyes flicked over to Stan and a grin started to climb onto his face. “It looks fucking _awesome_ , Lee.”

“Really?!” Stan's face was already starting to flush a bright pink at the praise.

“I think you got it. I think this is _it_.” Rick's smile was now one that was flashing all of his teeth, one of the rare full smiles Stan didn't always see on him.  

“Glad I could help,” Stan muttered, trying not to show how high he was soaring.

Stan swerved off the road onto the dirt path the two of them knew so well. The path was narrow, and the sound of the plants surrounding the one-way road smacked faintly against the sides of the car. Rick shucked off his leather jacket and hoodie, revealing his black choker necklace with a silver ring in the middle and his thin cotton t-shirt with a hand-drawn anarchy symbol on it. The path finally opened up to a clearing, one side perfectly flat and criss-crossed with car tire pattens where teens would hook up in their cars at night, the other half with dozens of sloping dirt hills, where some of the kids would come and try doing bike jumps on the mounds during the day.

The instant Stan twisted the ignition and shut off the car, Rick had already pounced, hand shoved into the thick hair at the back of the jock's head, eagerly sucking at his lips with loud smacks, his too-long legs folded up uncomfortably in the cramped space. Stan's hands cupped either side of Rick's thin neck and glided upwards to hold both sides of his face. He drew him in closer, deepening the kiss with his thumbs sinking into the indent below Rick’s cheekbones.

"Take this off," Stan whispered breathlessly and plucked at the back of Rick's tee, and without a word Rick reached behind him and grabbed the back of his hand-drawn shirt, lifting it up and off and tossing it into the foot space underneath the glove compartment. He was so incredibly thin that he already didn’t have much of a chest to begin with, but he’d sometimes wear his binder if he wanted that extra boost of confidence. He never felt the need to wear it when it was just him and Stanley alone, though.

Rick grinned at him, topless and already breathing harder, thick hair mussed around his ears from taking off the shirt. His breasts were very small, only slightly rounded out mounds, without any sagging or creases forming underneath them, and one nipple was pierced with a simple steel barbel, two small silver orbs pinched close on either side of the pinkish bud. His ribs poked up from under his skin in stripes, his concave stomach was lined with just one short wrinkle from the hunched position he was in, and his sparse happy trail was coming in thicker and Stan ran a finger down its line, making Rick shudder. Stan let his hands glide up from Rick’s hips to his ribs; He loved how slender Rick was and how it made his hands look gigantic in comparison.

He stilled when Rick winced and sucked in a gasp, and Stan took in a sharp breath when he saw what had caused the pain, the deep purple and yellow bruise blooming on his side he hadn’t noticed until now. He reached out, barely even skimming the injury with his fingertips, brown eyes wide with shock. "Rick- _shit_. What did he do this time?!"

"It's-It's nothing," Rick looked away, eyes closing in shame. He held his elbow across his bare stomach insecurely, he'd forgotten it was even there and hadn't tried to hide it from Stan. "S-seriously, just drop it."

"He's a sonovabitch. I'll _kill_ the motherfucker!" Stan's hands balled into fists so tightly they were shaking. "Just say the word, Rick, I'll fuck his ass up so bad he'll need to eat out of a tube for a month! I’ll have him shitting out his missing teeth!"

Rick hugged his body, looking out the window and drew his knees up to his chest. "It-It-t-t w-was an accident. He was just drunk, Stanley, w-w-what else do y-yu-yu-"

"You're trembling." Stan reached out, hesitant. "...Can I touch you? Is that okay?"   

Rick nodded, frowning and squeezing his eyes shut. Instantly, Stan surrounded him from behind and wrapped him up in his thick arms, digging his chin over his shoulder.

"We gotta get you away from your dad, Ricky.” Stan sighed, tightening his arms even more around him and increasing the pressure. "Come live with me and Ford. Please. Ma thinks you're a total hoot. We got tons of appliances 'n shit broken around the house you could fix up, earn Pa's favor-"

“That’s never gonna happen, Pines, and I think you know it.” Rick’s head flopped to the side and he sighed, his body compressing inside of Stan’s embrace. Stan just lowered his own head, pressing his nose over the shelf of his shoulder and kissing the bare skin, his eyes falling closed.

“I know.” He admitted quietly, eyes falling closed. “I just… wish it could.”

The two of them were quiet for a moment, and Stan curled his fingers along Rick’s waist on his uninjured side.

“Fuck ‘im,” Stan mumbled, his voice raspy and close to tears, his nose poking against Rick’s back. “One more year. Then you can do whatever the hell you want, he can't keep you any more.”

"I know." Rick said, in a cold way that clearly meant he was cutting off the topic. "Just kiss me already, dummy."

The two continued to make out like they had what felt like hundreds of times before, Rick lying horizontally on top of Stan in the front bench seat, both panting softly as their hips rocked against each other, working up a motion. When Stan broke the kiss, he suddenly had a new idea when his eyes flicked to the strip of Rick's signature black necklace.

"Take this thing off, Rick." Stan thumbed at, then slipped two fingers underneath it. "-Wanna leave you a hickey under it."

"I’ve- never taken this off. I’d feel naked without it." Rick touched the choker tentatively with the tip of his middle finger. "It was Mom's."

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Stan pulled away from him, his face dropping with realization. “Rick- I’m real sorry I asked. I didn’t know. I didn't know that's why you wore it all the time.”

But Rick had already reached behind his neck and undone the clasp while Stan was apologizing, and the black strip fell away from his neck and slipped into his waiting palm.

“ _Rick!_ ” Stan gasped, clasping the smaller hand that held it into two of his. “What the hell are you doing?”

“If we’re really doing this,” Rick began, trying his hardest to steady his voice. “Then I- _want_ to feel naked, o-okay?”

There was the slightest tan around where the necklace used to be, and Stan could tell where it used to sit by the lighter shade of paleness ringed around his throat.

“I get what you’re trying to say here, but you _really_ should put it back on.” Stan pushed Rick’s fist up against his chest. “Please.”

Rick deflected with another question, reaching out with his free hand and skimming Stan’s own piece of jewelry.

“You ever take yours off before?” Rick thumbed at the medallion in the middle of Stan’s golden chain.

Stan slowly shook his head back and forth. “Nah, I haven’t. I sleep, shower, and fight in it, always.”

“Whose was it?”

“My granddad’s.” Stan answered softly. “He taught me everything I know about boxing. He gave it to me when I won my first championship, I… I shoulda known back then that meant he was dyin’. He always hoarded things like a dragon, down to his last shiny penny, the old coot.”

Rick’s fingers brushed the back of Stan’s neck, and Stan bowed his head and pulled Rick into his lap, resting his hands on both sides of his waist as Rick’s folded legs squeezed reassuringly at Stan’s sides.

“Go ahead,” Stan whispered and turned his head to the side and mumbled into Rick’s neck, planting a kiss on the stripe of pale skin from his absent choker. “Do the honors.”

Rick’s nimble fingers worked the clasp, and just like that the golden chain came undone and began to slip down Stan’s chest, but Rick caught it and pulled it into the same hand that he held his own, the black and gold together, already starting to entwine between his fingers.

Stan looked a little vulnerable since it had come off, and his fingers brushed at the missing space on his chest.

“You’re right. This does feel sorta weird,” Stan said with a chuckle, and Rick’s reached out and cupped Stan’s square jaw, thumbing along that sharp angle of bone. The two met eyes, both smiles a little vulnerable at the absence of the jewelry, but happy about it at the same time.

“Sorry mom and granddad,” Rick joked, leaned over and placed the necklaces with ultimate care on the back seat. “We don’t exactly want you seeing what's about to go down, anyway.”

Stan chuckled at that from the front seat. When Rick climbed back over again and looked to Stan, he was partially laying back on the seat with his elbows digging into it, his eyes wide and his facial expression was tight with nerves.

"Damn. You really _are_ nervous," Rick teased with a chuckle, slipping to lay on top of him and running his hand up his chest. "You're all sweaty."

"I can't help it, okay? Sorry." Stan grumbled. "Maybe I'll loosen if you just keep kissing me, _dummy_."

Rick snorted and closed the gap between their faces, tilting his head to the side and pecking softly at his lips with his eyes closed. It felt like a long time where they just kissed, hips rocking lazily, and a shadow of a doubt passed Rick's mind. Maybe it wasn't going to be tonight, after all.

"Open your eyes." Stan muttered into his ear, he seemed to pick up on Rick's sudden rigidness. "-Wanna see you."

[ [source] ](http://jlorcalx.tumblr.com/post/162520082310)

It was a little weird at first to do it this way, with both of their eyes wide opened and making eye contact while they kissed, but as Rick started to melt around them he realized it was a nice way to look at him, directly into his eyes as his hands wandered about his body. 

Stan's hand wandered to Rick's groin, and rubbed in a slow, suggestive circle over his jeans, and Rick felt a sudden rush of arousal pluck at his insides. Stan pulled back and away, unbuttoning the ripped jeans and drawing them down low to his knees and peppering kisses down his stomach until he stopped just above his navel.

Stan looked up at Rick’s face, noting the way he’d captured his bottom lip between his teeth in anticipation. Stan gave his crotch one more slow rub over the fabric of his tighty whities and then slipped them down, to bunch up and join the wadded up black pants by his knees, pulling both all the way down to the ankles, and Rick let his legs fall open slowly for him.  

" _Whoa_. It's gotten bigger," Stan grinned up at him from between his legs, cupping the underside of his thighs. “Like, by a lot.”

"Come on, you're just saying that." Rick shot back, an embarrassed flush climbing onto his face.

"No, seriously, it has!" Stan grinned widely at him, and Rick took in a breath sharply when Stan rubbed his thumb in a gentle circle around the enlarged clit and then very gently dipped a finger inside, testing for wetness, he knew that dryness might be a problem as a side effect of the testosterone. Rick sighed softly, relaxing as Stan continued to rub in tight circles.

“We gotta to get you wet.” Stan said softly. “Tell me if it starts working, but- we have lube too. We can use that. Probably should, right?”

"Ah… ah f-fuck, Lee." Rick tossed his head back to press flat against the window, breathing already elevated. "S-sorry. It’s, uh-”

“Sensitive, right? Because of the T?” Stan took his hand away and rubbed down the outside of Rick's leg in reassurance. "It's okay. I know. All of this stuff. Well, _most_ of it. I, uh, read up on stuff first."

"You _'read up'_?" Rick snorted, to cover up the fact that he was sort of melting at the visual. It wasn’t easy to find this kind of information. He thought about Stan meticulously looking up titles at libraries, checking out big, thick books on transgender history, his bulky self hunched over at the desks and scanning through all that material just to find what he was looking for.

Time for a snarky comeback, just so Stan wouldn't get too comfortable. "You can read?"

"Shutthefuckup," Stan mumbled and lowered his head, lapping softly with his tongue.

“Make me,”

“Oh, honey, I will.”

It wasn’t long before Rick was at a loss for words, he moaned deep in his chest and bit down on a knuckle of his fist. Stan continued to slowly drag the flat of his tongue with slow, languid licks, then prodded his tongue in, nosing into his thick mound of curly pubic hair as Rick's hand found its place over Stan's head, combing through his hairs.

Rick moaned quietly, legs drawing up as he writhed and he finally folded his legs around Stan's head, keeping him there. Stan continued to suck and lick, and finally drew back and didn't leave Rick empty for long, he quickly replaced the missing tongue with a finger and eased it slowly inside of the pocket of warmth and wetness. Rick whined softly at the sensation, huffing.

“You good?” Stan asked, genuinely concerned as he stared up at Rick. He seemed like he was going to shut it down, pull his finger out and away, which was the last thing Rick wanted. Rick sank himself down further on it, and Stan got the message easily enough. He worked it in as far as it could go and then slowly back out, Rick crying out again quietly as he pistoned and worked up a good rhythm.

Stan surged upward and Rick’s legs fell away from his shoulders, he closed the gap between their faces and pressed his lips as gently as possible up against Rick’s with a soft smack, knowing that meant he'd be able to taste himself, and slipped in the second finger at the same time. Rick gasped into his lips and his hands wandered along his back, bunching up the fabric.

Rick drew his boyfriend’s shirt, dampened at the back and under the arms with sweat, up and over his head. When Stan sank back down to lay on top of Rick’s body, the warmth of his bare skin felt so much better, even though he was a little sweaty.

“Lee,” Rick hid his face away in the crook of Stan’s neck, squeezing him into his arms. Stan continued to work his two fingers in and out slowly, even he was panting now in anticipation, and Rick felt his hardness straining in a small log up against his jeans as he rocked up against him.

“Lee. _Please_. Want it- want you,” Rick spoke in choppy sentences as he breathed hard, speaking into the jock’s collarbone and clung to his broad back.

“Yeah. Want you too,” Stan grunted, planting one on Rick’s lips again. “...How’re you feeling?”

“God, I’m not _Carla_.” Rick whined in annoyance. “You can be rough with me.”

Stan grinned at that, and unzipped. “ _Never_.”

* * *

 The two of them caught their breaths together afterwards, both taking a pause to even find their words again.

Stan hadn't really understood what the big deal was before this, but now he felt like just maybe, he did.

“Hey, you want a drink? I’m sorta thirsty.” Stan extended the cola he'd stolen over to Rick, and Rick curled his fingers around the neck gratefully with a tiny smile.

“Cheers,” Stan said quietly and clinked it with one of his brown beers, and the two of them both took their first sips.

Rick hadn’t realized how thirsty the whole thing had made him too, and he swallowed back burning mouthful after sugary carbonated mouthful, finally taking it away with a satisfied smack and a drag of the back of his hand across his lips.

“I got snacks and cigs, too. If you want,” Stan reminded him, and took another swig of his own beer. He reached over and draped his thick arm over Rick, drawing him in close and planting a kiss over his dampened hair.

“Still think you’re a virgin _now?_ ” Rick teased, resting his hand over Stan’s bare stomach.

“Hell-fuckin’-no.” Stan chuckled, knocking back more of his beer. “Look, I don’t care about the- whatever the hell happened with Carla. You’re… yeah. You’re my first, Rick. Just like I always wanted.”

Rick looked taken aback, and didn’t even try to hide it like he usually did. “Like… y-you…” He tried to repeat what Stan had said, but it felt like his brain wasn’t working.

“I’ve wanted this for, um. A long time now.” Stan admitted shyly, his eyes lowering. “Even back when we thought we were just friends.”

Rick didn’t seem like he was going to be able to form words as he just stared at Stan, holding both of his arms at the elbows.

“Just- here.” Stan wrapped his Letterman firmly around Rick, pinning his arms inside. He grinned toothily at the sight, and finally let go for Rick to shove his arms through the sleeves.

“Damn. Looks really fuckin’ good on you.” Stan couldn’t help but tell him, even though it was kind of oversized Stan almost felt like that was part of the appeal. “Shit. I’m getting hard again just looking at you in that. What a sight.”  

“Y-You mean- you want me to _wear_ this?” Rick asked quietly, astonished. “Stan. You already knew this. I can’t.”

“You’d better.” Stan grinned. “I can picture it now, you walking around school with a big ol’ _Pines_ on the back.” He drew the word out like a banner with his hands in the air.

“B-but… everyone will think that means we’re together.” Rick mumbled, downcasting his eyes.

Stan touched his shoulder, and Rick looked up to met his eyes again. “Yeah. Kinda the point.”

“We talked about this." Rick’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Stan, I-I can’t wear this. You know I want to, but- I can’t do that to you. They’ll give you a shiner for that.”

Stan snorted loudly, and just stuck the end of the beer into his mouth again.

“I’m serious. They did to me. They said they’d never lay hands on a _girl_ , but since I came out as _not_ one-”  He dipped his head and held onto his arms tightly.

“If they do, I’ll wear it like a fuckin’ badge of honor.” Stan took Rick’s face and pulled forward until his nose pressed against Rick’s. “You’re gonna wear that jacket.”

“You’re so stupid post-sex, _Jesus,_ Lee.” Rick began to laugh, but made no move to pull away. “You’re way too hopped up on your own hormones.”

The two kissed again, Stan's arms snaking around Rick and holding him close. The car smelled like sex, and the windows were a little foggy with condensation.

“Remember… when, uh...” Stan began, breaking the kiss for a moment. “We were hanging out under the bleachers one day, smoking pot. And you asked if you could tell me something? Something big?”

“That was a while ago.” Rick nodded. “Freshman year. When I told you.”

“Uh, see, well the thing is… I never told you this, but I was sorta scared you were gonna tell me you were into girls, and I know this is really selfish, but I didn’t want you to like girls, because then that meant-- well, that meant you would never like _me_.” Stan had to look away, and Rick’s hand slipped over his leg, a silent prompt to keep speaking.

“I mean, 'course I’d still wingman for you and help you pick up chicks and everything, I remember thinking that, because you’ll always be my bro and we’ll always have each other’s backs. But that would hurt so bad, to help you get with someone else. Because I had such a big crush on you.” Stan chuckled, ran his fingers through his hair nervously. “So when you told me you were really a boy-- suddenly, everything made so much more sense. And I knew then, knew you always were one.”

Rick tightened his arms around him and squished his nose up against the side of his neck.

“Are we something that’s gonna last, Rick?” Stan asked quietly. “I know we’re young and stupid, and maybe all those sex hormones are clouding up my brain right now, but--” He paused, running his tongue over his lip nervously. “I just want you to know that... I want a future with you. Away from this shitty place, real far away. We can live out of this Stanmobile if we have to. Do _you_ , uh _…_?”

Rick paused for a moment, which made Stan’s heart thump up nervously against his chest.

“Me, too.” Rick finally replied, his voice quiet and raspy with tears. "Stan… I'm gonna say something, too. I’m-I-I know you won't like it." Rick sighed softly and pulled the loose jacket closer around his shoulders, comforted by its weight, and the pungent smell of Stan that clung to it. "Lee... if I didn't meet you freshman year... I think I would have killed myself."

"Then, I'm gonna go ahead and say another thing. Something you'll probably throw a fit over." Stan looked at him like he was drinking everything in, and said: "I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you."

"You really needed the last word on this one, didn’t you?” Rick laughed elatedly, which made Stan chuckle back, then pull forward for another kiss.

“Well, arentcha gonna say it back?”   

“You really are an idiot, Stanley." Rick told him, and that was answer enough, and they were already sinking into each other's arms, round two just a minute away.

* * *

 

Epilogue

“Grandpa Rick! Your ride’s outside!” Summer drew back the curtain briefly before returning to her phone and slumping against the couch. “Seriously, he’s honked like, five times already.”

“I know, _Summer_ , I’m not deaf.”

A wildly hungover Rick bent over the kitchen sink, retching dryly again. He’d seemed to think he’d cleaned himself up well enough in the bathroom, but nausea hit unwelcomely once he’d stumbled into the kitchen for a cup of water and the smell of the alcohol in some of the cleaning supplies Beth had used to wipe down the counters hit him full force. He twisted the tap and splashed at his face, groaning loudly. Summer was unfazed by it all, tapping away at her phone. It was just business as normal.

Rick patted off his face with a dishtowel and groaned again. “Fuck,” He spat under his breath, smoothing down his hair. He wasn’t thinking about their dinner when he decided to drink this much last night.  

A car horn blared again from outside, one long drawn out tone followed by three short, impatient bursts. Yeah, he was pissed.

Rick shielded his pink eyes from the sun as he closed the front door behind him and sauntered up to the puttering red DeVille waiting in the street outside of the Smith residence, hands shoved deep into his lab coat pockets.

“Fifteen minutes stalling out here, Rick? Really?! We agreed on leaving at five-thirty, not five-forty-fuck-it I’ll just make him wait outside for almost twenty minutes! Just watch, we’re gonna lose our reservation now!” Stan barked when Rick ambled lazily up to the car and reached out to pull on the handle. “I just lost fifteen minutes of my life that I’ll never get back, thanks to you!”

“Oh, really? What about Columbia, wh-what about those six _days_ I lost there when you got locked up in some-”

“Shut yer trap and get in the damn car, Sanchez.”

Stan was wearing his fancy black and white suit, with his red silk bow tie. Despite his demeanor, Rick knew he had to be excited about tonight to dress up this nicely. Rick finally climbed in and slammed the door, slumping against the seat.

“Wow, you’re hungover.” Stan commented as he roughly put the gear shift into drive, and the two of them took off with a noisy squeal of tires and a puff of burning rubber.

“Am not.” Rick grumbled and crossed his arms and looked defiantly out the window.

“Oh, really? So, you wouldn’t mind if I did-” Stan couldn’t help but start to grin a little mischievously. He had a small nip of whiskey in here, he knew exactly where. He cracked it open, and extended it over to Rick’s side of the car, waving it around almost right under his nose. “ _This?_ ”

Rick clamped a hand over his mouth and fought back a retch, and Stan exploded into laughter.

“Yeah, honey, that’s what I thought.” He knocked back the nip himself in one swig.

“Oh, sorry, did you- you didn’t want some of that, did you?” Stan continued to prod and tease as Rick closed his eyes and fought back the waves of nausea, hand still firmly clamped over his face, the other extended across the car and flipping Stan off right next to his face. Stan just continued to laugh.

“ _Fucker_ ,” Rick finally managed to groan when he’d collected himself enough. “And you can get it back, by the way, if you’re going to b-be like that.” Rick spun the dial on a blaster he produced to say “1 5  M I N U T E S” in red digital lettering. He quickly blasted Stanley with it without warning, and Stan shuddered and his eyes widened in shock.

“What the _hell_ was that for?!” He strangled the wheel.

“Your fifteen minutes. I just added them back onto your lifespan, so y-y-oURPPH welcome.”

“You _added-_ ” Stan bit down on his teeth and strangled the wheel. “You added them to the  _end_ of my life, I needed those fifteen minutes _now_ , when I am going to use them? Suffering in hospice in a bed at the end of my life waiting to die already?! Con-grat-ulations, you just _extended_ my suffering!”

“At least I-I’ll probably be there.” Rick shrugged.

“Huh? What’re you talking about?” Stan pinched the side of his glasses and adjusted them further up his nose, focusing intently on the road like he’d always needed to.

“Hospice. Waiting to die. I said at least, I’ll probably be there with you.” Rick shrugged nonchalantly again, like he was desperately trying to show that what he said wasn’t actually that big of a deal. “So, you’ll be wasting those fifteen minutes right back at me. So we’re even.”

“Okay, morbid.”

“ _You_ said something dark first, Lee!”

“You’re still an asshole.” Stan tossed his outdated phone into Rick’s lap. “Call the restaurant, it’s the first one on the recent calls, tell ‘em we’re running late.”

“Yeah, I-I don’t think that’ll come as a huge surprise,” Rick rolled his eyes and opened up the flip phone and thumbed through the recent calls list. “Not like we haven’t been late every fuckin’ year for the past...” Rick realized, his face dropping.

Forty. That’s why he was mad. This wasn’t late-thirties anymore, this was the big _forty_.

“Oh.” Rick covered his eyes with his hand, then pinched hard at the bridge of his nose. He heaved out a sigh.

“ _Yep_ ,” Stan grit through his teeth. “What’s it been- forty years stuck with your ass, now, huh?” Stan grunted brusquely, leaning far over the steering wheel and squinting through the cataracts and thick glasses to see.

"Yeah," A small smile wandered onto Rick's face, despite the splitting headache and light sensitivity that made him feel like hell.

Despite pretending to be mad and keeping up the cantankerous act, Stan accidentally smiled too, and completely gave himself away.

Rick slipped his hand over Stan's knee in his black slacks, and kept it there.

**Author's Note:**

> I drew something with the descriptions of this AU in mind, it can be found here :) [x](https://nanianela.tumblr.com/post/169403104351/the-kicker-is-that-ford-called-the-cops-on-himself)  
> Thanks so much for reading!


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